Kryptonite
by homeric
Summary: Superheroes don't always need a costume. Two chapter fic - the first rated T. Will go up to M for the second. Reese/Taylor friendship, Reese/Carter smut later.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: nothing you recognise belongs to me.**

**(Spoilers for everything post "Number Crunch". Wavering a bit on the rating. I think "T" for this (some bad language), but the next chapter will bump up to "M")**

**A little bit inspired by 3 Doors Down's "Kryptonite".**

"You're not Superman you know. I can hear you." Taylor doesn't turn his head, and John wonders what it was that gave him away. He's wearing sneakers not his dress shoes so his footsteps are even quieter than they usually are. _Maybe it was the faint squeak of the emergency door as he nudged it a little further open, _he muses. He always carries a gun, a lock-pick and his phone, but something to oil hinges isn't a tool he picks up out of habit. Most of the time there isn't time for niceties and the doors he has to get through end up riddled with bullets anyway. He's probably upped the share prices on Home Depot alone.

Since there isn't any point in stealth any-more he walks over to the young man sat on the edge of the roof of the apartment complex, close enough to the edge to flirt with danger, but not so close that Reese doesn't yank him back by the collar of his baseball shirt on the off chance he loses his balance. The air vent a few feet behind them releases steam up to the bright stars in the darkness and the hum of traffic doesn't quite seem real.

"So you're a comic book fan?" It seemed a safe enough question. Stepping over the pitted concrete, John gives an automatic once-over at the terrain before relaxing. Flat roof, seven stories high, one exit, cover if needed from a tangle of long since abandoned scaffolding poles bleeding rust into the puddles left by yesterdays rain. A decent place for a sniper intent on the people scurrying down on the street below, but a strange one for a teenager to seek out at eleven o clock on a Saturday night.

"Not really. Liked the X-Men films. Wolverine y'know, with the claws and the attitude and being invincible – he was pretty awesome." When Reese sits down beside him, dangling his long legs over the side of the side of the wall, Taylor finally looks at him and gives a short, almost accusatory laugh. "Damn man. Shorts? Seriously? You're supposed to be bad ass Suit Guy. I mean you found me, so you've got like spider sense 'cause even mom doesn't know I'm up here, and you show up looking like..." Taylor's dark eyes narrow in annoyance and he shakes his head.

"Like?"

"Like a normal person." The teenager looks at him as though he's utterly stupid, and a little thrown, John wonders whether when it comes to kids perhaps he is. "You don't see Spiderman out patrolling in his pyjamas do you? Or.. I don't know Batman saving the world in jeans and flip flops." Taylor sounds positively irate. Too irate really.

"I was out jogging," John says quietly. "You can do it in suits but it's uncomfortable, the shoes give you blisters and the dry cleaning bills are hell. This," he tugs on the tatty gray t-shirt that is sticky with sweat and of forgotten providence "is a bit more comfortable."

"Yeah, but when you're wearing it then.. I dunno..When those men grabbed me there were all those people shooting at you and you never got hit once." Taylor looks away. "You got me and mom out. Gotta be at least a lucky charm."

In the moonlight the scar on Johns thigh hasn't yet faded to silver, the one on his abdomen still pulls slightly as it heals. He tucks his leg up underneath him in a pretence of getting more comfortable. Those two marks on his body are just a couple in the long list of scars that map his skin, and although he doesn't blame Carter for them, and would never divulge how he got them, to have her son ask questions about his scars isn't something he wants to deal with.

Leaning back on his elbows, Taylor stretches and tilts his head at John curiously. "So how come you're here anyway? Weird place to go for a run. If you're looking for my mom she's down the precinct."

John weighs up his options. Since I-and-Finch-keep-both-you-and-your-mother-under-twenty-four-surveillance-and-I-was-worried-when-I-saw-you-alone-on-a-rooftop wasn't a viable option when it came to answering, nor was using default flirting as a distraction or the usual if in doubt physical violence, John settles for a half-truth. "I came to give some work stuff to your mom and saw the door to the roof open. Went to check it out. Saw you here, and why are you here – I'd have thought you'd have somewhere else to be on a Saturday night."

"Yeah well." Taylor is silent for a long while. Reese isn't quite sure whether he's tracking the path of an aeroplane looking like a slow, sorry excuse for a shooting star, or is just lost in thought. "It would have been my dad's birthday today. Figured I'd come up here, say hi to him. Look at the stars."

_Fuck._ Reese inwardly kicks himself. _Looking out for the kid was one thing, intruding on personal grief was something else entirely. The Machine could do a hell of a lot but it didn't understand compassion. "_I'm sorry," he says eventually. "I didn't mean to intrude."

Taylor doesn't answer, but he gets to his feet and shoves his hands in the pockets of his (too baggy in John's opinion) jeans. "It's ok," he says eventually. "It's not like there's an advert in the papers or anything. He didn't have much family and it's just me and mom. She doesn't really..." His big dark eyes are overly bright, and standing, John puts his hand on the boy's shoulder. The boy accepts the comfort for a moment before moving away, and not for the first time John is struck by how similar Joss and her son are.

"I miss him, but it's not like I didn't get a family. It's good that she's got you now though. I think she gets lonely." Any vulnerability had been squashed down quickly, and the boy was once again the promise of the man he would become. For Reese however it is a little like being blindsided, something that simply doesn't happen to him.

And Ok, Joss does have him. No way is he going to let anyone harm her or her son. That's what he and Finch do. Finch probably doesn't get distracted and wonder what Carter's lips would feel like, or whether that gorgeous skin is as soft as it looks, and Finch definitely isn't impressed with the ease in which John forgave her for getting him shot. Joss would probably be horrified at the idea of any intimacy between them anyway.

"Your mom and I. We help each other out. That's all." It sounds very convincing in his head and not at all when said out loud.

Taylor rolls his eyes and gives Reese a pitying look. "She's my mom. If she didn't like you she'd I don't know, shoot you or ignore you – she wouldn't let you piss her off all the damn time. Believe me, I know. I live with her and she'd have killed me about a hundred times by now if she didn't love me."

"Just a hundred?" Reese's voice is dry and polite.

"Yeah well, my teachers say I have to do better in math so it's not like I've done a graph of pissing mom off or anything. I don't reckon I'd get extra credit anyway." Walking quickly, he pauses before disappearing down the stairs. "She's allergic to shellfish but she likes the restaurant with the big aquarium down the block. I'm going to soccer camp next week. You'll look after her right?"

"Yeah." The answer comes out before he can think about it. His chest is tight and Reese knows exactly what Taylor is asking. Whatever numbers come up, whatever he has to do, he'll make sure that Joss is not alone.


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer:nothing you recognise belongs to me.**

**Rated M for a reason ladies and gents – here be shameless smut. Not something I do much so feedback would be much appreciated. Also I'm a Brit, so if I mess up with American terminology (it must be really annoying) then please let me know and I'll correct it.**

There's a little shoal of neon tetras navigating around the fake coral that blankets the bottom of their tank, and Joss watches them idly. The big fishtank takes up most of the right wall of the restaurant, and on the rare occasions she goes there she always tries to find a table near it. Taylor doesn't really care what he eats – MacDonalds or Michelin starred, he probably wouldn't take much notice despite the lectures she's given him on healthy eating. She's not much better, Joss supposes. Her mother used to bake her own bread, spend hours on the evening meal. She herself often skips meals or just grabs whatever is convenient at either the precinct or a nearby hotdog stand. In the evenings she makes a half hearted attempt to cook something halfway decent, but exhaustion often means that more often than she would like to admit she reaches for the well worn little collection of take-away menus tucked behind the pottery cow with three legs that Taylor made for her at pre-school.

But Taylor is away. _Only for a week she tells herself, but still. She raised him so that he could make his own way in the world. That's what parents do, and it's not his fault that the apartment is too quiet without him._

So it's nice to be here, despite the circumstances, in the airy chrome and glass of Seascape restaurant. The waitresses are unobtrusive but diligent, and there's no music, just the steady hum of conversation that she has no interest in listening to. Sipping the dry Martini that cost twice as much as she was willing to pay usually and therefore tasted twice as good, Joss tracks the movement of a flashy Siamese Fighting fish, its silky looking fins and tail the exact electric blue of her dress. _So much for it just being the females of the species who dress up_, she thinks wryly.

There's a slight flicker of black over by the door as though on cue, and Carter smiles to herself, although she gives the man who has entered the restaurant only a cursory, studiedly indifferent glance.

Even when he'd been drunk, almost suicidal and frankly dangerous, it had been hard to shake John Reese from her mind. Put him in a beautifully cut suit, shave off the scruff and give him purpose and he was fucking lethal. Pretending to sip her drink and study the fish in the aquarium, Joss watches the reaction of the rest of the patrons and its staff from the reflection of the glass.

And yeah, not hard to predict. Two previously calm and collected waitresses practically collided when asking if he had a reservation and the bartender who had spent more time looking at her cleavage than taking her order looked surly when he passed over the scotch Reese had ordered. The two pretty beyond what nature had given them and more easily pleased than was safe, girls at the end of the bar, were practically salivating.

She waits until he sits down opposite her before she makes an effort to actually notice him.

"I'm guessing that there is a really good reason for this, because I actually have places to be."

Arrogant fucker that he is, he merely sits back, serenely as though they were old friends. There is a glint in his eyes as he slowly takes her in though, and Joss suddenly has to force down the urge to tug up the bodice of her dress and smooth down its skirt. Giving him the satisfaction of knowing that he'd unnerved her was not an option though, so leaning forward, she braces her elbows on the table and gives her best _don't fuck with me _glare, a little gratified at the way his eyes dart down to her deepened cleavage. "Who are we staking out and why?"

"Why do you think that we are on a stake-out?" He takes a sip of his scotch and settles back in his chair.

"What?" There's a gun in her purse, she throws a mean punch and there is always a knee to the balls . At the very least she could wave her badge around the restaurant and get him and his manipulative friend arrested. He's not the one in control."You asked me to dress up and meet me here because it was important," Joss says between gritted teeth. She's trying to keep her voice down but two women at the next table turn their heads at her voice. "Can you get to the point already?"

"This is the point." Accepting a small basket of bread rolls from a pretty Asian waitress, he shrugs his shoulders when Joss merely glares at him when he offers her one.

"Taylor thought that you might be lonely while he was at camp. So here I am."

Joss blinks. Mobsters, gun running, hell even homicide she can get her head around. Her own son _collaborating _for want of a better word with a fugitive, a killer involved in goodness knows what though...

"It's alright." She watches John's long strong fingers tear apart a bread roll. "He's not into drugs or gangs and he definitely hasn't started smoking."

"And how long have you two been friends exactly?" The words come out brittle and accusatory, so Joss downs her Martini and welcomes the burn of alcohol down her throat.

"I just keep an eye on him, that's all". John reaches a hand out to the one she's clutching around the stem of her glass, and Joss tucks her hands into her lap to avoid his touch. "Carter.."

"You're babysitting me for my son."

"I wouldn't say _babysitting." _

There's nothing left in her glass and she'll be damned if she's going to order another drink just to throw it at John Reese and his ridiculously pristine shirt, so Carter keeps calm and merely glares at the man across the table.

"What the hell have you been doing with my son?"

"Just keeping an eye out for him. He thinks that you like me."

"Do not." She sounds like a five year old, and is well aware of it, but when he waves away the menus offered, downs his scotch and practically drags her out of the establishment she doesn't put up a fight. A pretty angel fish looks at her from its glass prison as though in disappointment and she wonders how the whole strong, smart, independent woman thing thing she's got going on is so hard to hold on to when Reese's hand is in hers.

It doesn't take long to get back to her apartment and no time at all to get to the bedroom.

* * *

_Oh God, it's been such a long time.. Joss isn't sure what to do with her hands. Getting the zipper of__ her dress down is easy enough, but shrugging it off her shoulders suddenly seems ridiculously complicated. She's not the eighteen year old that took for granted her taut body with the arrogance of youth. She's had a kid, she's not what she once was, and what if he doesn't..._

"It's ok." John's voice is raspy and low, his breath tickling her ear, and when his hand strokes down the expanse of her back bared between the unzipped material of her dress, she exhales slowly, resting her head against the strip of skin revealed by his unbuttoned shirt. The cotton is crisp, dimly she wonders if he starches his shirts – do people do that anymore? She can't think why anyone would bother. His skin is warm though, the sparse hair on his chest slightly scratchy against her cheek. Since he seems quite happy to hold her without doing anything else, she lifts a hand and peels away one side of the shirt from his shoulder. Brushing his nipple makes him shudder so she does it again, shoving the rest of his shirt down so that she can find the other.

"Joss." It's a groan and a warning, and looking up into those blue eyes dark with desperation, she finds the strength to unhook the straps of her dress and let it drop to the floor before kicking it away. The strapless bra doesn't do much to hide her, nor do the black lace panties. She looks up at him, trying to keep her breathing even.

" Joss." The words are soft, a prayer as he drops his head down to her collarbone, clever fingers unhooking her bra and then one hand is stroking down her stomach and cupping her sex, and she's fairly sure that she's going to come from that alone, before she's even really touched him, and that would be an honest to God tragedy.

"Wait." Her voice doesn't sound like her own, but he backs off obediently as though he hadn't ignored everything she'd ever asked of him before. There's still not much space between them, if she leant forward her breasts would brush his chest. And although that seems like a pretty brilliant idea she forces herself not to.

"Changed your mind?" For once he's not making a joke. His voice is low, concerned, and although from the way his erection is tenting the front of his pants and his jaw is tensed, and the fact that he obviously really, really wants this, wants her, Joss knows that he'd walk away without recrimination if she truly told him "no". It's a strange sort of power.

"I want to look."

John closes his eyes, untangles the shirt that is still tangled around his wrists and throws it somewhere in the general vicinity of where her dress had landed. "If you want a strip tease then sorry, I haven't had that training." The words are light, but his eyes are almost worried when she takes him in. Almost as though he were looking for approval, although why that would be she has no idea. Tense and unsure, lean muscles flexed, he's the most beautiful thing that she's ever seen. Perhaps it's the scars. And there are a lot of them. Silvery slashes that speak of blades, puckered pockets on muscled flesh where bullets slammed into muscle and God only knew what else. It's a miracle that he's still alive. She kisses them all and nuzzles the still pink wound on his abdomen. She's already marked him, albeit involuntarily. The kitchen isn't far and part of her wants to grab a knife and bleed for him too. Instead she pushes him down onto her bed. When he runs his fingers through her hair it's almost like benediction.

Undoing his belt is easy, so is sliding his pants down, and it's not like she's some blushing virgin. When she closes her hand around his erection he groans, when she slides the pre-cum down and licks his slit clean she wriggles slightly so that he can feel her breasts against his thighs, and looks up at him with a smile.

"It's Ok."

"Not remotely." His hands in her hair pulling her up are almost painful, and the cop in her wants to protest, to fight, but then John's head is between her thighs, his hands holding her hips down and when he slides two fingers into her and suckles her clit Joss bites her wrist so as not to scream out and wake the neighbours.

He's careful though when he enters her. Letting her relax and work out where she wants to put her legs, giving her the time to stay "stop" or "enough". When he finally collapses on top of her he's quick to roll over so as not to crush her. When he asks if she's alright she doesn't know whether to laugh or smack him.

It's nice though. Curling up beside him. She doesn't even mind when he wakes her up at two in the morning with the flash of blue eyes in the dark and his fingers exactly where she wants them.

When the dawn comes it's hard to do much but make an undignified grunt and snuggle further beneath the bed covers. Even if John is making a particularly obnoxious (and surely totally false) quip about Taylor going into business with Finch because he predicted them being together.

" If that's true then Taylor is grounded," Joss says sleepily. "No Prom, no basketball, and I'm re-tuning his tv so it only gets the Discovery Channel." Turning her head, she nuzzles her head into the pillow and watches as an unashamedly naked John bends down to pick up the dress she'd spent a weeks wages on and tossed unceremoniously on the floor. The view is very nice she decides. And when the noise of the shower makes her restless, she gets up and pads off to the bathroom. No point in wasting water after all.


End file.
